Cursed by a Succubus

The air in the old forest was thick with the coppery scent of blood and the cloying, sweet perfume of dark magic. Tamsin Silverwood stood panting, her sword a simple well-made blade, lodged deep in the chest of the creature that was now crumbling to ash at her feet. The succubus, a vision of impossible beauty and terror, smiled with her last breath, a knowing, venomous look in her dying eyes.

“A good thrust… little warrior,” the demon had whispered, her voice like silk. “But my touch is eternal.”

Tamsin, then just eighteen and flush with the triumph of her first true kill, had wrenched her blade free, ignoring the strange, warm tremor that shot up her arm from the hilt. She had done it. She had proven her training, her fortitude. She was a hero.

That was a week ago.

Now, Tamsin walked through the bustling market square of a small Eldorian border town, and the memory felt like a cruel joke. The foundation of rigorous training and bodily control she had built her life upon was now sand shifting beneath her feet.

Tamsin was a picture of youthful, earnest strength. Her shoulder-length black hair was pushed back from her face, revealing striking blue eyes that usually held a clear, determined light. Dressed in a simple linen tunic and form-fitting leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, her athletic, hourglass figure was evident. Her generous bust and wide hips, assets she had never given much thought to, now felt like a constant, conspicuous burden.

A wave of nausea, sweet and cloying, not unlike the succubus’s perfume, hit her as a guardsman strode past. Her eyes, against her will, dipped down, flicking to the leather codpiece protecting his groin. A flush of heat bloomed across her chest and cheeks.

No, she thought, forcing her gaze to the cobblestones. Look away. Control it.

A low, melodic laugh echoed in the confines of her mind. It was a voice that had become her constant, unwelcome companion. Why resist, my dear? the succubus’s voice purred. He is strong. You can smell the virility on him, can you not? It’s… intoxicating.

It was. That was the most shameful part. The scent of leather, sweat, and something uniquely, fundamentally male sent a jolt straight to her core, making her traitorous body clench with an arousal that was as sudden as it was vile. Her leather pants suddenly felt too tight, the rough fabric of her tunic an agonizing friction against her sensitized skin. She stumbled, catching herself on a market stall, her knuckles white.

“Are you alright, miss?” The stall owner, a burly man with a kind face, looked at her with concern.

Her eyes betrayed her again, darting downward before she could stop them. A fresh wave of humiliation crashed over her. Gods, no.

See? the voice cooed. Your body knows what it wants. It screams for what you deny it. A simple, honest release. Let go.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Tamsin stammered, her voice tighter than she intended. She pushed herself upright, her face burning. “Just… tripped.”

She hurried away, the man’s confused gaze a physical weight on her back. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shame. This was the curse. Not a physical weakness, but a systematic dismantling of her will. Every glance, every unbidden scent, every pulse of unwanted pleasure was a victory for the demon she had slain.

She found a moment’s respite in a shadowed alley, leaning against the cool stone wall and trying to steady her breathing. She focused on the lessons of her childhood, breath control, mental discipline, the visualization of a fortified mind.

Your resistance is so endearing, the succubus's voice in her mind whispered. It makes the eventual surrender so much sweeter. You are a flower opening to the sun, Tamsin. And the sun… is everywhere.

A tear of frustration welled in her eye, and she angrily wiped it away. She was Tamsin Silverwood. She was strong. She was principled. She would not be broken by this. She would endure. She had to.

The heavy oak door of the Sanctuary of the Sacred Flame swung shut behind Tamsin Silverwood, muting the sounds of the bustling city. The air within was cool and still, smelling of old stone, beeswax, and a faint, comforting aroma of incense. Sunlight streamed through tall, stained-glass windows. Tamsin felt a familiar, unwelcome heat beginning to prickle across her skin, a sensation that had become her constant, shameful companion. She clenched her fists. Not now, she pleaded with herself. Be strong. A young acolyte approached, his robes swishing softly. Tamsin’s gaze dipped towards his crotch for a split second before she forcefully wrenched it back to his face, her cheeks flushing. "I... I seek an audience with the High Priestess," she said, her voice polite but edged with a tremor. "It is a matter of... spiritual affliction." The acolyte, seemingly unaware of her internal struggle, nodded and led her towards the altar. The High Priestess, Isolde, was a vision of divine grace. She stood tall and serene, her hair a cascade of blonde waves that fell around shoulders draped in immaculate white and gold vestments. Her eyes, a warm amber, held a depth of kindness that made Tamsin's throat tighten with a fragile hope. "Welcome, child," Isolde said, her voice a soothing melody. "You seem troubled." Tamsin dropped to one knee, her head bowed. "My lady. My name is Tamsin Silverwood. I slew a succubus in the Whispering Woods a fortnight ago, but in its death throes, it laid a curse upon me. I was hoping your holy magic could purify me." Isolde’s gentle smile did not falter. "Rise, Tamsin. Let us see what we can do." She placed a cool, soft hand on Tamsin’s forehead. As Isolde began to chant, a soft, golden light emanated from her palm, washing over Tamsin. For a blessed moment, the constant, buzzing heat of the curse receded. Tamsin dared to hope, her blue eyes wide with desperation. But then Isolde’s chant hitched. Her brow furrowed. The golden light flickered, and Tamsin felt an agonising, searing pain. Isolde snatched her hand back as if burned, her serene expression shattered. "By the Flame..." she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. "Tamsin, this is no mere surface corruption. The curse is woven into your life essence itself. It is a part of you. To remove it would be to sever your very soul from your body. It would kill you." The hope in Tamsin’s heart shattered, leaving a cold, hollow void. "No... there must be something..." "Perhaps not removal, but suppression," Isolde said, her voice tight with renewed determination. "I will attempt to cage it, to seal its influence within a barrier of light." She began her chant again, her voice rising in power. The golden light returned, brighter this time, more intense. "Foolish girl," a familiar voice chuckled darkly in the depths of her mind. "Does she really think that she can contain me?” "Be silent," Tamsin muttered. Isolde’s chant became a strained cry. The holy light around her hand began to sputter, its pure gold darkening at the edges, tinged with a violent, ugly magenta. "I... I can't hold it!" Isolde gasped, her body trembling. "The power is too potent! It’s… it’s corrupting the flow!" A wave of palpable, shimmering magenta force, erupted from Isolde, exploding outwards in a silent, devastating shockwave. It washed over the pews, over the praying devotees, the acolytes, the guards. The change was almost instantaneous. A man reading a prayer book dropped the tome, his eyes glazing over as he turned and grabbed the woman next to him, bending her over whilst he fumbled with his rising cock. A female guard dropped her spear, it clattering as she knelt down and pulled down the breeches of a fellow guard, enthusiastically fellating him to readiness. Moans, once stifled, now echoed freely under the vaulted ceiling. In a heartbeat, the serene sanctuary was transformed into scene of writhing bodies, each in various stages of undress. Tamsin stared, her mind reeling, unable to process the depraved orgy unfolding before her very eyes. The musk of arousal filled the air, and a treacherous warmth bloomed within her, making her legs feel weak. No. This is my fault. All my fault. A soft, hungry growl made her turn. High Priestess Isolde was still standing before her, her amber eyes now two pools of unnatural, blazing magenta. Her stare was fixed upon Tamsin with an almost predatory intensity. A slow, sensual smile spread across her lips. "Such... pleasure," Isolde purred, her voice a lewd distortion of its former melody. Her gaze raked over Tamsin’s form-fitting leathers, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. "I can’t believe I devoted my life to the flame when I could have been feeling… this.” She took a step forward, no longer a holy woman, but something more perverse. Tamsin hoped the effects were only temporary.

The damp, earthen smell of the cave was a familiar comfort, a stark contrast to the sterile, incense-heavy air of the Church of the Sacred Flame. A month ago, Tamsin Silverwood had sat in that hallowed space, her hopes crumbling as an apologetic priestess explained the nature of the succubus’s curse. It could not be removed without killing her as it had woven into the very tapestry of her life essence. The finality of it had hollowed her out for a week, leaving her listless and despairing. But Tamsin was, above all else, resilient. If she could not rid herself of the curse, she would have to endure it. And enduring meant returning to her life, to the work that gave her purpose, adventuring. This quest, to rescue the missing village girls from Oakhaven, was a test. A chance to prove to herself that she could still be the hero she’d always wanted to be, despite the constant, humiliating war being waged within her own body. She moved with a practiced silence through the winding tunnels, her form-fitting leather pants allowing for easy movement. The curse, however, was a relentless companion. As she passed a pair of goblin guards chatting in their guttural tongue, her eyes, against her will, dipped to their loincloths. A hot flush crept up her neck. “Looking for something, little warrior?” a silken voice cooed in the confines of her mind. “They may be small and ugly, but even a goblin has its uses. Don’t you wonder…?” “Quiet,” Tamsin whispered into the darkness, her knuckles white on the hilt of her sword. She forced her gaze away, focusing on the path ahead, on the mission. The parents’ terrified faces flashed in her memory. They feared the maidens were being used as breeding slaves. The thought fueled her resolve, pushing the shameful arousal back into its box. The tunnel opened into a vast, torch-lit cavern, and the scene before her stole the air from her lungs. Her worst fears were not just confirmed; they were surpassed. The missing girls, faces dazed and streaked with dirt, were bound hand and foot with coarse rope. Their simple village dresses were torn and shoved up around their waists, their legs spread apart and tied to stakes driven into the cavern floor. Their bodies were being used, violated by the gnarled, green-skinned goblins that rutted atop them. But the horror did not end there. Each girl also cradled a wriggling, mewling baby goblin at her breast, forced to nurse the monstrous offspring they had likely already been forced to bear. And there were more. Dozens more goblins, a leering, jostling line for each of the tormented girls, waiting impatiently for their turn. Tamsin’s stomach churned. A righteous, cleansing fury began to burn within her. This was an abomination. This was why she fought. Then the curse struck. The musky, pungent scent of the cavern, a mix of unwashed bodies, dirt, and something uniquely primal, hit her like a physical blow. It didn’t smell foul to her cursed senses; it was thick, intoxicating. Her head swam, a dizzying warmth pooling low in her belly. Her skin, hypersensitive beneath her linen tunic, felt as though every thread was a deliberate caress. Her breath hitched. “See?” the succubus’s voice purred, dripping with malicious delight. “Such virility. Such raw, unfettered desire. They know their purpose. They take what they want. It’s… thrilling, isn’t it? Don’t you feel that heat, Tamsin? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to be the center of such… attention?” “No,” she gasped, pressing herself against the cold cave wall. Her cheeks were on fire. This was not the time. This was the most profane, most horrifying moment she had witnessed, and her own body was betraying her, responding to it. Her principles screamed in outrage, but a traitorous part of her, the part the curse had carved out, was fascinated by the raw sexuality of the scene. Her eyes, wide with horror and self-loathing, were once again dragged downward, scanning the line of goblins, her gaze snagging on their thrusting hips. Her grip on her sword faltered. The plan, a swift, silent ambush, shattered in her mind, replaced by a jumble of panic and unwanted sensation. She was flustered, her decision-making skills crumbling under the dual assault of external horror and internal shame. She had to move. Now. Before the curse completely clouded her judgment. Taking a shuddering breath, Tamsin focused on the cross-eyed faces of the village girls, their minds clearly broken as they moaned lewdly under their captors. Surely they couldn’t be enjoying this… right? The warmth in her belly was doused by a colder, sharper emotion, a furious, protective compassion. She tightened her grip on her sword, the leather of the hilt creaking in protest. The succubus whispered one last, taunting remark, but Tamsin shut it out. She was Tamsin Silverwood, an adventurer of Eldoria. And she had a job to do.

The salt-laden breeze of Eldoria’s harbour did little to cleanse Tamsin Silverwood’s spirit. It had been two months since the curse had sunk its claws into her, and a little over one since her rescue from the goblin caves. The memories of her captivity as a goblin breeding slave, the grimy hands, the oppressive darkness, the loss of all control, were a stain on her soul that no amount of sea air could wash away. She had decided to take a break from adventuring, but the restlessness within her was a constant, gnawing companion.

Her throat was parched. Spotting a sign swaying in the wind, depicting a pair of lips puckered against a seashell, she read the name, The Salty Kiss. A tavern. Perfect. Pushing the heavy door open, she was immediately assaulted by the atmosphere within. It wasn't the familiar smell of stale ale and roasted meat she expected. This was a thick, cloying cocktail of cheap ale, perfume, sweat, and something muskier. The common room was a cacophony of loud cheers and raucous laughter.

Her blue eyes, wide with initial confusion, scanned the room and landed on the source of the commotion, a raised stage. On it, a young woman with platinum blonde pigtails and bright, vibrant blue eyes was riding an orc with an enthusiastic, bouncing rhythm. The orc’s large, green hands gripped her hips, his own massive cock sheathed deep inside her with each downward plunge. The crowd roared its approval.

Tamsin’s breath hitched. A hot flush crept up her neck. She tried to look away, but her gaze was locked, a morbid fascination rooting her to the spot.

‘You could have that. You could be up there, feeling that thick, wonderful orc cock. Imagine it, Tamsin. Being filled so completely, your juices dripping down onto the stage for all to see. You would love it.’ A silken, insidious voice whispered in the confines of her mind. The succubus.

“No,” she whispered to herself, her fists clenching at her sides. But her body, her traitorous, cursed body, was already responding.

“Well now, who do we have here? A little lost lamb that’s wandered far from its pasture?”

The voice was warm, maternal, yet held an undeniable edge of shrewdness. Tamsin turned to find a woman approaching her. She exuded sensuality, swathed in a gorgeous crimson silk gown that hugged her generous curves. Her gaze was intelligent, missing nothing.

‘Ooh, I like her.’ The voice in Tamsin’s head purred.

“I… I thought this was a tavern,” Tamsin managed, her voice slightly hoarse. She found it difficult to meet the woman’s eyes for long, her attention helplessly drifting back towards the spectacle on the stage.

The woman, Madam Scarlett, followed her gaze and gave a soft, knowing laugh. “A common misconception, my dear. This is the Salty Kiss, a house of pleasure. And that,” she said, gesturing gracefully towards the bouncing blonde, “is Aurelia. One of my most alluring girls. Former princess of Eldoria, if you can believe it. Lost her title after the Iron Empire rolled in. Now, she’s lost in a different, far more profitable kind of ecstasy.”

A princess? Tamsin’s mind reeled. The woman on stage, her face a mask of blissful abandon, was nobility? The thought was as shocking as it was unsettling.

‘A fallen princess,’ the succubus purred. ‘How delicious. Even the highborn cannot resist their true nature. You are no different, my little warrior.’

Madam Scarlett’s eyes appraised Tamsin with a professional air, taking in her form-fitting leather pants, the swell of her breasts under the linen tunic, the wide hips that spoke of a warrior’s strength. “You look stressed, little lamb. While I don’t keep any male whores in my stable, we do have a… discrete option for ladies with certain urges to satisfy. There’s a glory hole in the back. A place to let off some steam, no questions asked.” She offered a gentle, conspiratorial smile. “I could take you there, if you wish.”

The offer hung in the air, thick as the perfume. The lewd image flashed in Tamsin’s mind, fueled by the succubus’s immediate, eager whispers. The scent of cock in the room seemed to intensify, making her head spin. That shameful arousal surged, a wave of heat that threatened to buckle her principled resolve. Her body screamed ‘yes’, a desperate, aching need born of the curse and her own month of forced captivity. But her spirit, the part of her that was still Tamsin Silverwood, aspiring adventurer, recoiled at doing something so depraved.

She stood frozen, caught between her growing arousal, the tempting promise of anonymous release, and the crumbling foundation of her own self-control.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the trees, dappling the forest path in light and dark. Three months had passed since the dying succubus had laid her curse upon Tamsin with its final, venomous breath. Walking beside her, Aurelia was a beacon of cheerful impropriety. Her platinum blonde pigtails bounced with each step, and her silky, revealing, travelling dress did little to conceal the perkiness of her breasts or the ripe, peach shape of her ass. She hummed a bawdy tune, utterly at ease. “You’re quiet, Tam,” Aurelia said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Just keeping watch,” Tamsin replied, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. It was a half-truth. The real effort was in keeping her own gaze fixed firmly ahead, away from her companion’s overt sexuality. Every glimpse of it seemed to stir the thing inside her. ‘Oh, don’t be such a prude’, the voice cooed in her mind, a silken whisper that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. ‘She is magnificent. So… unashamed. It’s refreshing, isn’t it?’ Tamsin clenched her jaw. A month ago, lost and desperate for a drink, she’d stumbled into the Salty Kiss. The realization of where she was had hit her like a physical blow, the scent of perfume and sweat making her head spin. Madam Scarlett, a woman with eyes as sharp as daggers and a surprising warmth, had found her floundering. Instead of seeing her away, she’d offered her a place to… unwind, and later, a contract. ‘She saw your potential,’ the succubus murmured. ‘Not just the sword-arm, but the fire beneath. And this one…’ The memory of Aurelia bouncing up and down on an orc’s cock on stage flashed in Tamsin’s mind. ‘This one is a delight.’ Aurelia, the former princess of Eldoria, now a paid companion and, as she’d cheerfully declared, ‘eager whore’. Tamsin still couldn’t reconcile it. The woman had lost everything to the Iron Empire’s invasion, yet she carried not a shred of sorrow, only a boundless, almost alarming, enthusiasm for her new life. Her current assignment was to be the main entertainment at a fertility festival in the neighbouring village of Oakhaven. Tamsin’s job was simply to get her there safely. The ambush came with no warning. One moment, the forest was still. The next, hulking forms erupted from the undergrowth, brandishing crude axes and clubs. Orcs. Five of them, their green skin and tusked faces twisted into brutish snarls. They were big, and they had the numbers. Tamsin’s sword was in her hand in an instant, her body falling into a defensive stance. Her mind raced, calculating angles, threats, the sheer impossibility of winning this fight. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the curse. The musky, aggressive scent of the orcs, a pungent mix of sweat, leather, and something else, assaulted her senses. Her traitorous eyes flickered, against her will, to the large bulges in their leather loincloths. A wave of heat, sudden and shameful, washed over her. Her skin tingled, her leather pants feeling impossibly tight. Her face flushed. ‘Mmm, such a potent aroma’, the voice purred, delighted. ‘All that raw, brutish strength. Don’t you just want to see what they’re packing?’ “Steady now,” Tamsin muttered to herself, trying to force her breathing under control. Then, she heard a giggle. Aurelia wasn’t cowering. She was smiling, a sly, knowing look on her face. She placed a calming hand on Tamsin’s sword arm. “Easy, Tam. No need for all that.” She leaned in, her whisper a warm breath against Tamsin’s ear. “I know how to ‘deal’ with orcs.” She winked, a gesture so suggestively lewd it made Tamsin’s head spin. ‘I love this one!’ the succubus crowed in her mind. ‘Oh, I love her very much! No tedious morals, just glorious, shameless instinct. Listen to her, little warrior. She knows what she’s about.’ Before Tamsin could protest, Aurelia stepped forward, putting herself between the adventurer and the raiders. She planted her hands on her hips, accentuating her curves, and addressed the lead orc, whose beady eyes were already fixed on her with predatory interest. “Well, hello, boys,” she said, her voice dripping with playful invitation. “Is this how you greet all the travellers on your road? So… aggressive.” She tutted, shaking her head, making her pigtails sway. “I think we can come to a much more… mutually beneficial arrangement. Don’t you?” The orcs grunted, their aggression momentarily replaced by confusion and a dawning, crude curiosity. Aurelia glanced back at Tamsin, her expression serene. “Just follow my lead, Tam. And try to relax. This will be far more fun than fighting.” Tamsin stood frozen, her sword held uselessly at her side. The cursed voice in her head was a chorus of encouragement, and the sight of the utterly fearless former princess offering to whore her way out of danger was the most disorienting thing she had ever witnessed. Her principles screamed in protest, but her body, her traitorous, cursed body, thrummed with a hot, bewildering, and shameful thrill.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the docks of Eldoria, glinting off the water and illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air between the warehouses. Tamsin stood, arms crossed over her chest, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel. The form-fitting leather pants and linen tunic that had once felt like a second skin now felt like a cage, the rough fabric a constant reminder of the heightened sensitivity of the body beneath. Four months. It had been four months since the succubus’s dying curse had slithered into her veins, twisting her heroic aspirations into something base and shameful. The rigorous training and mental fortitude that had been her foundation now felt like a crumbling wall under constant assault. ‘Oh, stop fidgeting, little warrior,’ the voice, a silken purr that was both alien and intimately familiar, coiled through her mind. ‘You’re not waiting for an inspection. You’re waiting for a treat. A little diversion arranged by your dearest friend.’ Tamsin’s jaw tightened. Aurelia. The former princess of Eldoria, who had traded her crown for a room at the Salty Kiss and seemed to find genuine joy in her new profession. It was Aurelia who had, with relentless, cheerful persuasion, worn down Tamsin’s resistance. She’d often joined her when she used the brothel’s discrete glory holes out back, a solution that had seemed a perfect compromise. Anonymity. A necessary, physical release for the pent-up arousal the curse constantly stoked, without the intimacy or surrender Tamsin feared. She could close her eyes, serve a faceless, grunting stranger, and pretend it was just maintenance. A draining of pressure. But lately, even that had felt… insufficient. The anonymity had begun to feel hollow, and the shame that followed each visit had grown thicker. So when Aurelia had suggested a real date, a blind date with a ‘sweet, uncomplicated lad from the docks’, a part of Tamsin, a curious, desperate part, had agreed. ‘A step up from a hole in the wall, isn’t it?’ the succubus murmured, dripping with amusement. ‘A real man. Flesh and blood. You can look him in the eyes before you-‘ ‘Stop it’, Tamsin thought, the command feeble even to her own mind. Her eyes scanned the busy wharf, and then she saw him. A young man, perhaps a year or two her senior, leaning against a stack of crates. He had sun-bleached brown hair, a friendly, open face, and the broad, well-muscled shoulders of someone who hauled rope and cargo all day. He looked… nice. Genuine. Exactly as Aurelia had described. A flicker of relief washed over her. This was good. This was normal. She could do this. She could have a conversation, share a meal, and maybe, just maybe, feel like the person she used to be for a few hours. Then her gaze, as it always did against her will, dipped lower. It snagged on the tight-fitting breeches he wore, the practical workman’s clothing strained across his thighs. And the… bulge. There, nestled prominently between his legs, was an impressive, undeniable outline. It was substantial. Formidable, even. Tamsin’s breath hitched. Her mouth went dry as a sudden, dizzying wave of scent hit her, the salt of the sea, the smell of clean sweat, and something else, something uniquely male and utterly intoxicating. Her traitorous body responded instantly, a flush of heat spreading from her core, making her skin feel too tight and her leather pants feel like a second, constricting skin. Her mind fogged, principles and control blurring under a surge of raw, shameful need. ‘Oh, my…’ the succubus cooed, a sound of pure, undiluted triumph. ‘Now it all makes sense. The princess has excellent taste. She didn’t just find you a nice boy. She found you a nice, well-endowed boy. Look at that. A true weapon of mass seduction. No wonder you’ve been bored with your anonymous little vents.’ Shut up, Tamsin pleaded internally, her face flushing. She forced her eyes back up to his face, her heart hammering against her ribs. He had noticed her, and was offering a shy, hopeful smile as he pushed himself off the crates to approach her. So this was why Aurelia had chosen him. It wasn't just his kind eyes or his honest work. It was a specific, physical qualification. And as the cursed desire pulsed through her, clouding her thoughts with vivid, unwelcome images, Tamsin felt the fragile façade of her control develop a new, deep crack. “Hey, I’m Fitz. You must be Aurelia’s friend.” The young man held out his hand invitingly.

The first thing Tamsin Silverwood was aware of was warmth. Not the feverish, uncomfortable heat that so often plagued her since the curse, but a solid, encompassing warmth that made her feel… safe. The second thing was the scent of sun-bleached linen and clean male skin, a scent that, for once, didn’t send a jolt of unwanted, shameful arousal through her. It just smelled like him. Like Fitz. Her cheek was pillowed on his chest, one of his muscular arms a heavy, comforting weight across her bare back. She lay perfectly still, listening to the steady thump of his heart, and allowed herself the rare luxury of not fighting her own feelings. The memories of the night before washed over her in a warm tide, his friendly, earnest face looking at her with such genuine interest during their date, the way his large, work-roughened hands had felt so surprisingly gentle on her skin, and then… the loss of control. She had given in. Completely. The curse, usually a torment of whispered lewdness and involuntary urges, had felt like a different beast entirely in his arms. It had become a current of pure, unadulterated sensation, and she had let it sweep her away. The seductive voice in her mind, usually so mocking, had been reduced to a purr of approval. And Fitz… his massive cock had, quite simply, blown her mind. A flush crept up her neck at the memory, but for once, it was mingled with awe rather than shame. He stirred beneath her, his breathing changing. His arm tightened around her for a moment before he blinked his eyes open. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, and Tamsin’s heart constricted. He was so nice. So genuine. She pushed herself up just enough to lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Good morning,” she whispered, her voice still husky with sleep. “Now that’s a proper wake-up call,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. Tamsin smiled, a true, unguarded smile that felt foreign on her face. “Last night… Fitz, that was the greatest night of my life.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. “Mine too, Tamsin. I mean it. You’re… incredible.” They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments, but a niggling thought, one that had been pushed aside by the whirlwind of the date and the passion that followed, resurfaced in Tamsin’s mind. She traced a idle pattern on his chest. “Can I ask you something?” she began. “How… how exactly do you know Aurelia? She was so insistent we meet, but she was never very clear on the details.” Fitz’s friendly face flushed a deep red, right to the tips of his ears. He let out a soft, embarrassed chuckle. “Ah. Right. That.” He ran a hand through his sun-bleached brown hair. “Well, you know I work on the docks. The lads, they’re a rowdy bunch. About a year back, they decided it was high time I… um… lost my virginity.” Tamsin’s eyebrows rose. She couldn’t imagine this man, with his powerful build and easy confidence, ever being inexperienced. “They pooled their coin,” Fitz continued, looking anywhere but at her. “Dragged me down to the Salty Kiss and said they were buying me a night with the best. Which, according to them, was the former princess. So… they paid for me to have a night with Aurelia.” Tamsin blinked, trying to process the image of a younger, nervous Fitz being ushered into a room with her platinum-pigtailed, blue-eyed friend. Fitz, looking thoroughly sheepish, hurried on. “The thing is… well, after… she was so impressed by, uh, me… that she went back out, gave the lads their coin back, and told them my company was payment enough.” A wave of understanding, followed by a completely irrational and sudden spike of heat, crashed over Tamsin. ‘So impressed by…’ Her eyes, as if pulled by the curse’s own magnetic force, flicked downward beneath the sheets for a fraction of a second before she snapped them back to his face, her own cheeks burning. Of course. Of course that was what had impressed Aurelia. It certainly explained her friend’s fervent recommendation. “We just… hit it off,” Fitz finished with a shrug. “Became friends. We’ve been… occasional fuck buddies ever since. But it was never anything like this, Tamsin. I promise you.” The succubus’s voice coiled in her mind, a silken whisper. ‘See? Even a princess of whores could not resist such a magnificent gift. You are not weak for succumbing, little warrior. You are wise.’ For once, Tamsin didn’t argue with the voice. She just looked at Fitz, his honesty, his slight embarrassment, the sheer, solid reality of him, and felt the last of her walls crumble. She settled back against his side, her head finding its home on his chest once more. “Well,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin. “I can certainly understand the impression.”

The sun warmed the cobblestones of Eldoria, and for the first time in a year, Tamsin Silverwood walked in its light without a shadow in her heart. The constant, whispering voice that had haunted her, the spectral remnant of the succubus she had slain, had fallen into a contented silence. The curse still lingered, a latent heat under her skin, but it was no longer a raging fire. Fitz, her dockworker boyfriend with his sun-bleached hair and impossibly friendly face, had been the balm to that particular wound. His genuine affection and surprisingly skilled attentions had pacified the demonic presence in a way Tamsin had never thought possible. Her life had found a perfect, unexpected balance. Her days were split between honest work as a part-time adventurer, taking on bounties that required a steady hand and a sharper sword, and her evenings wrapped in the safe, muscular arms of a man who loved her. Things were good. They were better than good. This peace made the sudden, frantic sound of her name being screamed all the more jarring. “Tamsin! Tamsin!” Tamsin turned to see her friend Aurelia sprinting down the street, her usually immaculate platinum blonde pigtails flying wildly behind her. Tears streamed down Aurelia’s face, cutting tracks through her carefully applied makeup. The former princess of Eldoria, now a joyful and eager whore in the Salty Kiss brothel, was a vision of pure, unadulterated panic. “Aurelia? By the gods, what’s wrong?” Tamsin’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword. Aurelia skidded to a halt, grasping Tamsin’s arms, her blue eyes wide with terror. “It’s Fitz! There was a fight… at the Gilded Tankard. He didn’t know… he had no idea the man was Lord Valerius’s son!” A cold knot tightened in Tamsin’s stomach. “A fight? Fitz wouldn’t start a fight.” Her Fitz, with his easy smile and gentle nature? It was unthinkable. “He didn’t! He was defending one of the girls from the Kiss! But he struck a noble, Tamsin. They’re… they’re going to hang him. In the public square!” Tamsin’s world tilted. The warm sun turned cold, the cheerful sounds of the city became a dull. Her heart didn't just sink, it plummeted. Fitz. Her Fitz. His friendly face, his sun-bleached hair, the way he made her feel so safe and so desired… all of it, about to be snuffed out. Run, a part of her mind screamed. Fight your way to him! But she was one woman against the entire city guard. She would be cut down before she got within a hundred yards of the gallows. Desperation, cold and sharp, clawed its way up her throat. There was only one being she could think of that possessed the kind of power that could possibly stop this. Closing her eyes, Tamsin turned her focus inward, to the dark corner of her soul where the curse resided. She pleaded, not with the curse, but to the spectre behind it. ‘Please’, she thought. ‘I know I have fought you. I have hated you. But please, if you can hear me… help me. Save him. I’ll give you anything. My body, my life… my very soul. Just save Fitz.’ For a moment, there was only the echoing silence of her own terror. Then, a familiar, seductive voice, once full of mockery, now held a strange, almost maternal warmth. ‘Little adventurer,’ the voice cooed. ‘I have watched you and your pleasure with the well-endowed mortal. And I have strangely… grown fond of you both. Your resilience was admirable, but your joy was a novelty I had not experienced in eons.’ Tamsin stood frozen, Aurelia’s sobs a distant thing, as the voice continued. ‘I will give you my power. All of it. It will change you, irrevocably. This will be the last time we ever talk like this. Do you agree?’ There was no hesitation. “Yes,” Tamsin whispered aloud, her voice firm. “I’ll do anything. Just help me save him.” ‘Then use it well, my sweet,’ the succubus’s voice echoed, fading, becoming a distant whisper. ‘And don’t forget to have a little fun every now and again. Goodbye… daughter.’ ‘Daughter?’ The word confused her, a final, cryptic puzzle from her tormentor. But the confusion was instantly burned away by a surge of power so immense it stole her breath. The latent heat under her skin erupted into a blazing inferno. It was not the shameful, unwanted arousal of the curse, but a raw, untamed magic flooding her veins. She gasped as a sharp, burning pressure bloomed on her forehead, and two smooth, black horns curled up through her black hair. A tearing sensation ripped through her back, and with a shower of torn leather and linen, vast, bat-like wings of shadowy membrane unfurled, stretching to their full, impressive span. From the base of her spine, a thin, forked tail whipped into the air, sinuous and alive. Aurelia stumbled back, her tears forgotten, her mouth agape in shock. Tamsin felt the weight of the horns on her head, the powerful new muscles in her back. The world was sharper, smells more potent, the fear and desire of everyone around her a palpable scent on the air. The succubus was gone, her voice silent forever. But she had left Tamsin a final, devastating gift. She was no longer a cursed human. She was the curse itself. She was a succubus. And her love was about to be hanged.